Arrow
by Zarannya
Summary: Clint has been having a rough time recovering from the Loki Incident. Tony Stark means well... he really does. He just doesn't always know how to show it in conventional ways. (Companion story to Hawkeye's Merry Men)
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note- Special thanks Hawksicle and the other folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

This story was partly inspired by 'This is a story about a cat.' by dysprositos, as well as recent articles about Military Working Dogs finding homes after years of military service. If there are any innacuracies, no offense is meant :)

* * *

Clint stared out of the barely opened door at his unexpected visitors. "That's a dog, Stark."

"Brilliant deduction," Stark replied, pushing his way through the door to enter the rather pitiful living room. The leash in his hand led to a rather grumpy looking German Shepherd, who glared back at Clint. "Yes, this is a dog. More correctly, _your_ dog."

He watched as Stark examined the room, appraising Clint's rather Spartan living quarters. Aside from an old couch, tv and coffee table, there was a pair of large, framed landscape photographs on one of the walls. The kitchen sat in the corner closest to a sliding door that led to a balcony. The walls were mostly brick, though one was pockmarked with what looked suspiciously like old arrow holes.

The sink was full of dirty dishes, mostly glasses. A stack of old pizza boxes lay stacked haphazardly in one of the corners on the countertop next to an alarm clock, while the range top was covered with a thin film of dust. Stark shook his head; he hadn't expected to find the normally tidy man's home in such a state of neglect.

The engineer looked back at the pockmarked wall. "They _do_ make bales of hay with pretty, colorful circles for that. I can make some that cheer when you hit a bullseye, you know."

Clint looked back in surprise. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes as Tony led the canine over to the narrow breakfast bar in front of the kitchen. Finally closing the battered door, he turned around and crossed his arms. "Stark. _Why_ is there a dog in my apartment?"

"_Your_ dog," Stark insisted, unclipping the leash after telling the dog to sit. He pulled a thick, sealed manila envelope out from under his arms and set the large bag he had carted in with him on the counter.

Clint blinked in confusion. "What the hell am I gonna do with a damn dog? My lease doesn't even allow pets!"

"They do now," the engineer shrugged as he began pulling items out of the bag. "I spoke with your landlord and offered a rather healthy sum to cover the pet deposit to convince him to change his mind. He's a rather grumpy fellow, isn't he?"

There was a steadily growing pile of supplies piling up on the counter. A small bag of kibble sat next to a grooming brush, a bag of treats, and two bowls, all nestled cozily atop a greasy pizza box. Clint watched as Stark glanced around the apartment, shuddered quickly, and then shrugged. Pulling out his phone, the genius began scrolling through options on the screen.

Clint approached the dog warily. "I don't know how to take care of a fucking dog. It's gonna starve within a week. I don't even _want_ a pet, Tony! When am I going to find the time to do, well, whatever it is that you do with it?"

"Nonsense. And, it's a _he_, by the way- one look at his ass and you can't miss 'em. German Shepherd, full blood based on his pedigree. In the envelope, by the way, along with the rest of his paperwork," Stark replied rapidly. "He's had his vet check after leaving quarantine, so he's ready for you to hug him, love him, pet him, and squeeze him… or whatever it is you kids do with dogs."

"_Quarantine_? What, is he _sick_ or something?"

Stark shook his head quickly as he headed for the door. "Nope. Vet approved, remember? Anyways, it's standard protocol for any animal being shipped back from overseas. Quarantine makes sure they don't bring anything back with them from whatever country they've been running around in."

"Uh- "

"Come _on_, Barton- this big guy is just like you: ill-tempered, mopey, and best of all, guarantee to rip to shreds anyone he doesn't like. You'll get along fine."

"I'm starting to not like you very much," Clint grumbled. The dog was nothing like him! "Listen_- _how about_ you_ take the damn mutt if he's so great! I am the _last_ person you want looking after it."

Stark smiled. "No can do, Legolas. What's done is done."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The engineer was rubbing his hands together with a manic grin. "_Therapy_, Clint. Mandated by the SHIELD psych team that has been overseeing your recovery, and they agree wholeheartedly that you two can help each other get over what nasty little issues you've still got locked up in your head that you won't talk about or even _try_ to do anything about."

"Therapy?"

"You betcha. Your lovely psychiatric department has implemented a pilot program to try to help their more troubled 'assets' with Animal-assisted Therapy. The program's new, and you're the first one that gets to try it out, because face it, Sourpuss- you _really_ need a hug."

Clint arched his eye skeptically at the other man. "And you had _nothing_ to do with this, I suppose."

"I may have suggested the idea."

"Stark," he warned. "That dog doesn't look like it even _wants_ a hug."

Tony scoffed. "Oh ye of little faith. Some dog treats, a few long walks in the park, a game of fetch, and you'll be best pals in no time."

"It looks like it wants to eat me."

"Well, it was a long trip overseas, and I'm sure the food at Customs wasn't exactly gourmet. Besides- what young American boy _doesn't_ want a dog?"

"I had a dog, Stark," Clint snarled, fixing his teammate with a glare. "My dad cut its throat when I was six because it pissed on the carpet."

"See? You're sharing already." Tony grinned and picked up the folder, lightly tapping it on Clint's chest and releasing it as he opened the door to escape. The dog threw Stark a pleading look as he walked out the door "Trust me. It'll be good for you!"

Clint moved cautiously over to the breakfast bar, opening the manila envelope while maintaining eye contact with the dog. It was glaring at him again; its ears were laid back and the head was lowered. He could swear that the eyes had narrowed in defiance. So far, the dog had stayed right where Stark had left it.

Pulling the papers out of the envelope, he took a quick glance at what was included. There was a copy of a service record, a medical file, pedigree papers, and a certificate from Customs. Nestled in the pack of paperwork was an adoption form with his name listed on it.

Pulling out the service record, he opened the file and blinked in surprise. It was a military record, marking the dog as a former Military Working Dog. He hadn't been around them for a long time.

"You're an ordinance sniffer, eh? Not sure why Stark thinks I need a walking bomb detector," he complained. The dog grumbled in return, its head swinging up towards the greasy pizza box. "_Hungry_ bomb detector, I guess."

He snorted as he read the dog's name. "_Arrow?_ Fuck you, Stark."

Sighing, he reached for the two metal dishes sitting on top of the pile of dog supplies. Pouring some kibble into the bowl, he laid it down in front of the dog, who began to eat quickly. Clint repeated the same process with the second bowl, filling it with water.

Plopping himself down on the couch, he drifted off to old A-team re-runs, wondering how he had gotten himself into this mess.

* * *

_Stark Tower…_

Pepper walked into the dim workshop, deftly avoiding the various wireframe holograms that were being categorized and shifted around the room. "Tony? Tony- I'm home."

"Over here," he called, lifting a set of welder's goggles off of his nose and setting them on top of the table next to him. What the redhead could only label as a "contraption" sat in front of him, two rods attached to the center. "Alright, Jarvis- run simulation one alpha, please."

"_Very well, sir- would you like the simulation based on recreational targeting, or shall I incorporate simulated battle conditions?_"

He leaned back, spinning the seat around until he was facing her. "Surprise me. Pepper, you are looking, well… _radiant_ tonight."

She paused, an eye twitching weakly. Pepper could spot an apology build-up a mile away. "You _didn't_. Tony-"

"Before you say anything, I had _nothing_ but good intentions. And besides- it's all Captain America's fault, really," he started, standing up and walking towards her. He was wearing his best "I've done exactly what you've asked me, no- _ordered_ me not to, but I couldn't resist doing it anyway and I'm not ashamed to admit it" look. "_He_ was the one that wanted to take one of those old-fashioned deathbed promise-to-a-dying-fellow-soldier things seriously."

"Tony, you have _got_ to stop meddling in everybody's lives. You're not exactly subtle," Pepper complained, rubbing an eyebrow in annoyance.

He reached out and pulled her closer, lightly kissing her forehead. "You know I can't do that. It's too much fun!"

Sighing, she hung her purse from Dummy's offered grasping attachment. "Thank you, Dummy."

The robot assistant chirped happily, trundling over to Tony's desk and setting the purse down neatly. She smiled; the robots had been learning quickly with the new upgrades he had installed last week, and were making fewer mistakes than before.

She received a small nudge, causing her to turn. You was waiting, a towel laid over its own grasper, a martini held in its grip. "Um, thank you, You."

"You're going to spoil them, you know," Tony teased, his head turned over his shoulder as he scrubbed his hands in the nearby sink. "Alright, you guys- show's over. Leave Pepper alone. She's had a very long day."

"So, Tony. How did your little visit go?"

"As well as could be expected. He's still depressed, and based on what I've seen, taking it out on his wall."

Pepper blinked, taking a sip of her drink. Three olives- just how she liked it. "His wall."

"Yeah- using it for target practice or something. Based on the pile of leftover pizza boxes, accounting for age of the various grease stains, I would be highly surprised if he's left that little hole he's been staying in since they let him leave SHIELD headquarters," he recounted bitterly. She watched as he reached into his snack drawer. Pulling out a silver packet, he began tossing small pieces of dehydrated fruit into his mouth.

Pepper knew he had been concerned about Agent Barton over the last few weeks. He had had his initial suspicions about the man- they all had, except for Natasha- but once Tony had gotten some downtime to go over the records and sit down to talk with the agent, he had taken a liking to Agent Barton.

Taking a liking, in Tony's case, meant interfering in said target's personal business, and in some cases, ill-advised and disastrous attempts to make things better.

She watched him sadly. He had lived alone for so long, aside from Rhodey, Happy, and herself, that he had never truly learned how to deal with others, and often misunderstood when to stop crossing boundaries. Tony had a good heart, when he wasn't trying to make an ass out of himself or the next unfortunate target for his boredom. Deep down, he was such a lonely _child_.

At least he had Bruce to keep him company now. The two scientists had bonded over their mutual respect for each other's skills and experiences, and Tony had been delighted to finally have a companion that he could actually talk to without breaking things down into "laymanese", as he called it.

"Want one?" Tony was holding the silver pouch out to her. She raised an eyebrow at him. He looked at her and then back at the bag in confusion, his eyes widening as he read the label. "Oh yeah. Oops."

"No problem," she said with a smile. He hadn't even noticed it contained strawberries. "Thank you for offering."

"See? At least _someone's_ appreciative," he whined. Tony Stark was never stumped by problems. Problems were just questions that hadn't found the right solution yet. "I just… Pepper, I don't know what to _do_. He looked so lost, you know?"

"So you thought that surprising him with something like a new dog would make things better?" She sighed, pinching her nose. "Tony, what were you _thinking?_"

"I thought that maybe," he drawled, "Legolas would get the idea that he should stop wallowing in misery. You didn't see his apartment- total _dive_, by the way. I don't know why a guy like that stays in a… a _place_ like that. It's a damn firetrap that ought to be torn down. Hey- now _that's_ an idea… "

Reading his sudden flash of inspiration, she decided on some preventative damage control. "No, Tony. You are _not_ buying the building and tearing it down. There are innocent people living there who will possibly have no place to go- it's not fair to them, no matter how effective it might be at getting Agent Barton out of the house."

"But Pepper-"

"_No_, Tony." She knew he had been slightly disappointed in the surly agent's continuing refusal to take him up on his offer of finding him a place to stay. He had been so excited when he showed her the initial plans for the Tower renovation; it had been designed with the team in mind, and included sleeping quarters, a track, and a training floor. There was also another plan to include a community area as well as a landing bay for a Quinjet. If Pepper didn't know any better, he would even find a way to include a weapon range for the two SHIELD agents.

It was a perfect playground for a team of superheroes, but so far most of them weren't biting. She didn't think it was personal; Tony just didn't understand that you couldn't go out on a mission, albeit a dangerous one, and then expect everyone to want to become roomies. Barton and Romanoff were especially protective of their privacy.

Setting her martini glass down, she approached him and took his head lightly in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Tony. Give it time. Give _them_ time. Just take things easy, and make friends with them the normal way, and I'm sure they'll come around eventually. Rome wasn't built in a day."

"You're right, Pep. You know, you're always right."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note- Special thanks Hawksicle and the other folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, New York City, NY…_

Natasha held the phone to her ear, her tones clipped as usual. "I hear you have a new roommate."

"_Yeah. Fucking Stark. He got me a dog, can you believe that? Some new psych treatment. Animal Assisted Therapy,"_ he mocked, the sound of running water and clinking dishes carrying over the line. _"It's supposed to make me happy, more open with my feelings, or some shit like that."_

"They're saying it's the last idea they have, Clint," she advised sadly, a frown marring her features. "I spoke with your therapist yesterday. If you don't get cleared within the next two months, you don't _get_ cleared. Ever."

She heard a quiet curse, followed by a bitter chuckle. _"All things considering, it wouldn't really matter, now, would it."_

"Don't talk like that. You've made good progress-" she began, ignoring the wary glances of passing SHIELD personnel as she headed for the gym. Natasha knew it was likely that they had noticed her "on the hunt" look as she searched for her target and wisely stayed out of her path.

"_But not enough for SHIELD,"_ he pointed out. _"They don't want to risk putting a ticking time bomb out on the field again. And they're right to. Damn it, Tasha- I can't even sleep or eat like a normal person. Hell, I can barely leave my apartment since I keep seeing fucking _Loki_ right around the corner everywhere I go, ready to hit me with that damn stick again. Fucking _useless_."_

She fell silent. Natasha had stood by him during his worst moments after the Loki incident. They were still baffled as to what the Tesseract had done. It was as if most of his mind had taken Loki's flippant command literally, and hardwired it into his brain. Certain things just didn't matter anymore.

Clint hadn't felt hunger since the Tomb. He hadn't gotten drowsy either- the impromptu nap had been more the result of being distracted by the new dog and Stark's visit than natural impulse. That, and the fact that he had been trying unsuccessfully to sleep without assistance for three days had given him his first unscheduled sleep since the Loki incident.

While having the ability to push the human bodies beyond their typical limits was potentially useful to a field operative, the manner in which it had been done to Clint went beyond natural determination. In his case, it was downright dangerous. He could potentially suffer from sleep deprivation or starve to death without feeling it, and that did nobody any good.

She couldn't help but ask. "Have you been keeping to the schedule?"

"_Yeah, just like every morning when you call to check on me. Well, I think I forgot dinner last night after Stark came by. I fell asleep on the couch,"_ he complained. _"Damn dog woke me up at four this morning for a walk. I _hate_ waking up that early. I swear- either the damn thing's on the wrong time zone still, or it's just trying to piss me off."_

"Who knows," she replied, stifling a chuckle. "He could be as annoyed with the situation as you are. You said you slept, though- right? That's good, Clint!"

"_Yeah yeah- I'm not sure whether the doc's gonna be pissed or jump for joy. Maybe the sleep thing'll clear up and I can finally start feeling human again."_ He sighed in resignation, then cursed sharply. A crashing sound followed. _"Shit- not the TV! Hey, Nat- I gotta go. I'll call you later."_

Natasha shrugged as she returned the phone to her pocket. Opening the door to the gym, she found the man she had been looking for all morning. "Good morning, Captain."

Steve Rogers nodded in greeting, finally stepping back from the punching bag. Two spares lay next to the super-soldier, ready to be strung up in case he had another minor tantrum. "Good morning, Agent Romanoff."

She folded her arms in front of her chest crossly. "So, I hear I have you to blame for Agent Barton's current predicament?"

"Current predicament- _what?_" He cocked his head in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"The dog, Captain. The dog that was unceremoniously dropped off at his apartment yesterday by Stark, who I've asked _multiple_ times to not go looking for Agent Barton's home without talking to me first," she recounted. "_That_ predicament."

His eyes widened. "Wait- you mean he actually _did_ it? I thought he was joking, and I _told_ him it wasn't a good idea- _how_ exactly did you find out, anyway?"

"Pepper."

"Oh. Right. Look, Agent Romanoff- I didn't know Stark was actually going to follow through on this crazy idea."

Her eyes narrowed. "Words were said about a wish from a dying soldier, or something to that effect?"

"Can I explain, please?" He held his hands out in a placating gesture. The sweat beading on his brow was no longer from the exertion of punching the bag. The soldier had heard many tales of what she would do to people that angered her, and he had seen her in action against the Chitauri. Frankly, she scared the living daylights out of him, and now she was _annoyed_ with him. His eyes began scanning for escape routes.

"Explain quickly."

"Well, you know that I was escorting Stark over to Iraq to take a look at some of the hospitals that were treating soldiers with major injuries, right?" She nodded. "He's doing some sort of thing with prosthetics, apparently, and one of the soldiers that we met was in really bad shape. The doctors asked us to visit him since they weren't sure he was going to make it, and he's apparently a fan of Captain America, and… "

"Go on," she warned. Her foot began to tap.

He gulped. "The soldier had been hit with some sort of explosive or rocket or something that wiped out his entire squad. He was the only survivor, along with the dog- the handler and dog team had been sent with the squad to look for roadside bombs on patrol or something. So, this kid's lying in the hospital bed and telling me how Command is looking at putting the dog down since it changed, ever since the bombing. Won't work with handlers or anything- it started showing a lot of aggression."

Unwrapping his hands, he sat down on the bench next to the wall, shaking his head. "You should have seen it, Agent Romanoff. Here this soldier is lying in pieces in a hospital bed, and all he cares about is making sure the dog was okay."

Romanoff's posture relaxed slightly. "What does that have to do with this 'promise' of yours?"

"I had to do _something_," Steve muttered. "If only to ease his suffering- they weren't sure he'd survive to make it back overseas. I thought I'd give him peace of mind, you know? Anyway, Stark and I pulled some strings to go pay the dog a visit to see what was going on."

_Stark winced at the constant barrage of barking coming from the rows of kennels. The dogs housed within jumped up against the chain link, clamoring for attention from the kennel master as he led them to a kennel located in a quiet back corner. _

_The kennel's occupant was laying dejectedly in the back corner. They stopped in front, watching as the kennel master entered the enclosure. The dog sat up, growling at the sergeant. He sternly growled an order at the dog, who quieted down but kept his ears laid back. _

"_So, this is the one, huh?" Tony straightened his tie. The Middle East made him nervous, ever since his trip to Afghanistan. He had hoped to make this trip as fast as possible, but no- they just had to follow up on that soldier's request to go pay a visit to a potentially psychotic dog. Cap owed him for this._

_Rogers stood next to him, examining the dog. "Yup. Wow, these kennels are a lot more solid than the ones they showed in the war films. They were taking just about any good dog they could find- there were dogs of all shapes and sizes donated back then."_

"_Well, they breed them for the job nowadays," Tony replied. "He looks angry, doesn't he."_

"_He's been through quite a bit, from what that soldier said. Could be shell shock."_

"_Shell shock? You mean PTSD."_

"_It's the same thing, no matter what they're calling it these days," Steve replied. "Why can't dogs have it too? They're sent into war just like human troops. Back in the war, we had a few of them in our regiment."_

_Stark looked deep in thought. "You promised that young man that you'd help the dog, right? Well, what if we convinced them to allow an adoption?"_

"_They're not going to allow a potentially aggressive dog to get adopted, Stark. It's too dangerous."_

"_But what if we found him a home with someone that can hold their own?" Tony asked, a strange glint in his eye. _

_Rogers scoffed. "I'm not sure I like that look in your eye."_

"_Lots of people don't. But think about it- this dog is suspected of having PTSD, is known to be antisocial, and has everybody around it tiptoeing on eggshells. Who else do we know that matches that profile, hm?"_

"_I don't think I follow," Rogers said, a confused look on his face. _

_Tony stepped over to pick up the clipboard hanging on the kennel door, and took several minutes to look through the papers attached. The papers held the dog's meal tracking and status check reports, allowing the keepers to better monitor the dogs. He smiled as he noticed the name written at the top. _

"_Oh, Sergeant- can I have a word with you for a moment?" Tony grinned as he watched the nervous soldier make a quick exit from the kennel. He looked back at Rogers, holding up the clipboard for him to see. "His name's Arrow. Don't you see? He and Legolas are perfect for each other."_

"I'm not sure what gave Stark the idea, Agent Romanoff, but please know that I had no intention of causing trouble for Agent Barton," Steve advised, shaking his head to clear the memory.

"The psych department actually thought it was a good idea," Natasha said, relaxing more now that she knew the details. She had been hoping that it wasn't some sort of prank from Stark, and she was glad to see that he may have actually meant well after all. One could never tell with the billionaire.

"They did?" His eyes widened in surprise. "I thought he was joking, to be honest."

"Well, Psych thought it was a splendid idea- I think he just left out the part about the dog having as many mental issues as Barton does. All I can say, is that Stark's crazy idea had better work, or I will be upset. "

"Did Director Fury have anything to say about it?"

"He did," Natasha replied. She cleared her throat, poorly mimicking her superior. "If bringing home a pet is what it takes for Psych to allow Agent Barton to get his ass back to work, I don't care if he adopts a god damn whale- just get his ass cleared."

"Wow. They're taking this seriously then."

She sighed. "Nothing else is working. Based on our conversation this morning, there might actually be something to this little experiment, though. Let's just hope he and the mutt don't kill each other first."

* * *

"Shit- not the TV! Hey, Nat- I gotta go. I'll call you later," Clint told Natasha, scrambling to catch the television as the dog charged it had apparently made the mistake of watching more A-Team re-runs. The dog snarled at the television as a vehicle exploded, barking at the screen.

"What have you got against Hannibal? Jeez," he growled as he set the battered device back into its original position. Clint turned around to stare at the dog. "Philistine."

The dog turned around and fled to a corner, curling up. Its eyes followed him as he stood up. With a sigh, he reached for power button. "Guess we've both had enough for today."

_Time to get some more information,_ he decided. It was a short walk to a bookstore, which thankfully kept a relatively large stock of books. They were sure to have one on dogs.

Keeping an eye out for his ever- present watchers, he frowned as he left the apartment. Before allowing him to leave headquarters, SHIELD had confiscated all of his weaponry until Psych cleared him for duty. His bows, rifles, handguns, and every knife except for a few kitchen knives had been packed up and transferred to the Armory downtown. They had even taken his computers, citing the Helicarrier virus as a cause for concern.

He snorted in amusement. As if he was any less dangerous with basic kitchen utensils- he had proven that years ago. Spoon handles went into eye sockets just as easily as any knife or arrow.

Entering the bookstore, he gave a nod to the clerk as he began searching. Twenty minutes later found him setting a stack of books on the counter, holding up a charge card with one of his many aliases printed on the front. Giving a quick thanks to the store clerk, he carted his bags home.

What he had hoped to find when he returned home was a nice, quiet apartment. What he found, however, was a mess.

"What in the name of…. "

The television had been turned over, the glass shattered on the living room rug. The old rabbit ears that had been left atop as a decoration ever since digital took over had been chewed and bent. There were light scratch marks in the outer casing, and the power cord was nowhere to be seen.

He dropped his books on the counter. "You gotta be kidding me. What. The. Hell, man? It wasn't even on!"

"_You_," Clint accused, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the infernal canine. The dog- Arrow, he reminded himself- sat on the sofa with a rather satisfied look on his face. He ran his palm over his face as he mumbled. "You… you killed the TV. Damn dog _killed_ the damn _TV_. Right. That's right- I know it was you!"

Arrow glared back at him, unrepentant. Sighing, he flipped his hands in the air, not knowing what else to say. Walking over to the broom closet, he pulled out the vacuum. Stalking over to the mess that once was his television, he began picking up the broken pieces, setting them aside to put in the garbage later. He then pulled over the vacuum, noticing the dog back into a corner and laid his ears back.

"Oh, _ho_- you don't like this thing, do ya," he taunted. "Well, I don't like you chewing my shit."

Clint yanked the cable off of its holder, plugging it in and starting it up. The vacuum made quick work of the glass. He looked back at The Dog, who was huddled into the corner and staring at him. "How about this. You don't tear things up, I keep _this_ thing going as little as possible. Gotta do it, buddy- glass fucking hurts when you step on it."

He kept his voice soft, keeping his eyes on the dog. It began to relax as he wrapped up the cords and put the machine away. "See? That wasn't so bad. What- if you hadn't broken it, we wouldn't be in this mess. Cause and effect, dog."

Arrow gave him a dubious look as he stood up from the corner and nudged his food bowl. The alarm clock went off, reminding Clint that it was lunchtime- time to enjoy one of the fine meals from his freezer again. At least Nat was nice enough to bring him groceries. Otherwise, he would be buried in pizza boxes.

He dropped back down onto the couch afterwards, pulling one of the books out of the shopping bag. The dog followed his every movement. "Now that you've ruined our one source of entertainment, I guess it's time to catch up on some reading."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note- Special thanks Hawksicle and the other folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Hawkeye's Apartment. Day 7…_

The tally was currently Clint 6, Arrow 10.

By mere chance, usually as a result of cleaning up one of the dog's recent attempts to destroy all of his personal belongings, Clint had discovered several things.

First, the dog detested vacuums as much as he disliked A-team re-runs. One instance of leaving the vacuum out after a cleanup session led to finding the offending device in pieces, much like the television. Clint had replaced it and reminded himself to be more careful before leaving it within chewing range again.

Second, the dog liked pizza. After forgetting to buy a replacement for the woefully small bag that Stark had left, he had decided to forego shopping until the next morning and ordered a meat lover's pizza. The dog agreed whole-heartedly with the idea, and they decided on an uneasy truce for one day.

Third, walks were to be taken on time, every day. He found out quickly that leash equal walk, and walk equal no unpleasant gifts on the floor. Thankfully, he had had the carpet removed last year which made cleanup much easier.

Lastly, nothing left on the countertop was safe, as evidenced by the mess he had walked in on after returning from his latest checkup with Medical. The chewed up beer cans, scattered coffee grounds, and spilled dog food bag was not what he had hoped to find. After he had cleaned up the assorted other trash while the dog lay on his back in a drunken stupor, he had called Natasha, who promptly advised him that if he would keep his place clean like he used to, there wouldn't be a mess.

The current list of damages that he was tempted to bill to Stark was one television, one vacuum cleaner, two trash cans, one leather jacket, three running shoes, and his favorite pair of work boots.

"Don't you even think about it," he ordered, seeing the dog eye the pitiful coffee table and licking his chops. "C'mon- I got you those chew things they said you dogs love. Leave my furniture alone!"

There was a knock on the door that evening, followed by a small voice. It was muffled by the wood, but could only be one of the Tiny Simones. All of the other families had moved out, thanks to the bastard of a landlord that ruled the building. There were mostly bachelors like him left, along with a few elderly residents and of course, Simone, who lived down the hall.

He had never gotten around to learning the three children's names; he wasn't that close to his neighbors, though they were all friendly enough to say hello to him in passing. Simone had been kind enough to bring a casserole when he first moved in to welcome him to the "neighborhood."

Opening the door, Clint looked down to find her second eldest, who looked to be around five. Frowning, he noticed the tears in the small child's eyes. He knelt down to look into her eyes. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"Mommy's new boyfriend is makin' a mess, Mr. Clint. Mommy wants ta know if you can call the policemen? She can't make him go away!" The child's lower lip quivered as she burst into tears. "He's being scary!"

With a quiet curse, he picked up the child as he pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1, hearing the shouts now from down the hallway while he reported the incident. Arrow's ears perked up as he heard the voices, and a low, rumbling growl filled the room. "Knock it off, mutt. You're scaring the kid."

The growling lowered in volume but didn't cease. Looking at the small girl, he made a decision. "Honey, I'm gonna set you down, and you stay behind me, okay?"

A better idea formed as he shut the door, watching as one of the other neighbors opened the door to peek at the commotion.

"Keep an eye on her for a minute, will ya?" Clint asked, passing the child over as he headed down the hallway. Simone lived three doors down and across the hall, so it didn't take him long to locate the open door and the brute standing over his neighbor with his fist raised.

A bruise was forming on the woman's cheek, and she huddled protectively over her other two children- this wasn't the first time the man had struck her, he supposed. Crossing the distance quickly, he caught the man's wrist, motioning for her to leave with a quick jerk of his head. The man tried to swing his other fist at Clint's head, causing the archer to twist his grip into a restraint hold.

She picked up her children and vanished out the door. Seeing that she was gone, Clint twisted his hand slightly, driving the other man to his knees. Grabbing the other flailing hand, he deftly maneuvered it into another more complicated hold and waited for the police to arrive, ignoring the sputtered threats from the prospective ex-boyfriend.

An hour later, the police had arrived, taken the statements about the incident and left, hauling off the larger man. Clint retreated to his apartment, finding it thankfully in one piece. Sighing, he was about to sit down in his favorite spot on the couch, until he heard another slightly stronger knock.

He opened the door to find a tearful but smiling Simone. She was holding her youngest while the other two clutched at her shirt.

"I just wanted to stop by and thank you, Clint," she said, smiling with gratitude. "I don't know what came over Maurice, but I won't have that sort of thing near my kids. I didn't know what else to do- he was acting so crazy!"

He smiled. "Don't worry about it. Just… don't let him come near your family or the building if you can. You may want to talk to the police about restraining orders and such. Some people don't know when to give up when it comes to taking their problems out on their families or significant others."

"I'll talk to them in the morning. Oh, boy- getting the kids to sleep is gonna be a chore tonight," she complained, waving to him as she led her family back to her apartment. "Thank you again, Clint!"

Clint closed the door, deciding to call it a night. He padded into his room and changed for bed, then shook one of his sleeping pills out of the container on his nightstand. The agent was just dozing off when he felt a slight shift in the bed near his feet. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Arrow, curling up and setting his head down over his feet.

He was too tired to argue with the dog, and decided to have a discussion about boundaries later.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, Day 10…_

"Are you sure you don't want to get in on the pool, Captain Rogers?" An agent waved a small notebook in the air, trying to get his attention. "Total's up to about eight hundred."

"What sort of pool," Steve asked, his eyebrow arched. There was a large agents clustered around the desk, handing money over to the suited man with the book. He recognized several of them from the Ops department- the surveillance division, to be precise.

The suited agent leading the group leaned back in the chair, ignoring its protesting squeak. "Hawkeye versus German Shepherd, Cap. Right now, odds are on the dog. The coffee table bit the dust this morning."

"You can't be _serious_," he replied, surprised at their audacity. "You're gambling on the results of something intended to be an honest to God _treatment _for one of your fellow agents? The man's a human being, not a _sideshow_! You people ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

He stalked out angrily, ignoring the other agents entering the room that jumped out of his path.

One of the agents commented at his abrupt exit. "What crawled up _his_ ass and died?"

* * *

_Hawkeye's Apartment, Day 10…_

Natasha reached for her keys, shifting the bags on her arm to allow her free hand to reach the lock. Following behind her was none other than Pepper Potts, carrying more grocery bags with her. They were dressed in casual clothing, hoping to keep the visit under wraps. She pretended not to notice Pepper's nose wrinkle at the slight mildew scent that lingered in the hallway.

"I don't mean any offense, or anything, but why would he live here of all places?" Pepper asked, glancing around the hall nervously. "There has to be better places for an ag- I mean, for Mr. Barton to stay."

Natasha smiled, appreciating Pepper's attempts to remain discreet. She hadn't wanted to let anyone else know about Clint's hideaway, but between the SHIELD surveillance teams following him around and Stark's meddling, it was bound to be revealed at some point.

Pepper had taken her talk with Tony to heart, and asked that Natasha allow her to tag along on a visit. Her main reason was valid- someone had to check on his little pet project. She didn't think the pun had been intentional. Her actual reason was to see for herself how the agent was doing; Tony's friends, or the closest thing he claimed to have as friends, were her responsibility to keep track of, as she had explained to Natasha.

A crashing sound came from the apartment, followed by the sound of a struggle. Natasha's hands quickened, fighting with the door. She wrestled the door open and froze, dropping her bags at the sight in front of her.

Clint was wrapped around the dog, holding it in a failing attempt at a chokehold. One hand was reaching around the dog's jaws, trying to wrestle what appeared to be a coffee table leg from its mouth. The dog had straddled his chest as they struggled, his head shaking in an attempt to take the piece of wood from the cursing agent.

"Oh my," Pepper muttered, having reached the doorway.

The pair froze, their eyes locking on the women. The dog and man both released the contested table leg, letting it drop the floor with a clatter. "Uh… Oh hell, it's _exactly_ what it looks like."

"I'm sure it is," Natasha replied dryly. The dog retreated quickly, whining as he moved to sniff the remains of the coffee table. Pepper failed at holding in snorts of laughter, having caught Tony in a similar position with his robots when he was first developing the Iron Man suit.

Clint picked up the coffee table leg and shook it in the dog's direction. "_This_ is why we can't have nice things!"

Natasha picked up her fallen bags, sighing. They entered the apartment and promptly delivered the bags to the kitchen. Pepper began to look around while Clint jogged over to the bedroom and shut the door before returning to begin yet another cleanup.

Opening the freezer, she took a quick count of the remaining meals, matching it up with the schedule she had taken to keeping in her head to ensure her partner was following the doctor's orders. Putting away the new boxes from the shopping bags, she nodded in satisfaction that the numbers appeared to be correct.

Pre-made meals, while not as tasteful as a home-cooked meal, were quick and easy to prepare. The nutritional information was easy to obtain, and they seemed to satisfy the SHIELD dietician's requirements. She ignored the stack of pizza boxes. There was no need to report that deviation, and if having one of his favorite foods kept him eating and healthy, so be it.

Pepper was currently asking him about the holes in his wall, and his quiet, almost shy answers were amusing Natasha greatly. She hadn't been sure that bringing the executive would be a good idea, but they seemed to be communicating well enough.

She decided to bring up some of the gossip from headquarters after seeing him grow more twitchy and uncomfortable. He was avoiding Pepper's eyes throughout most of the conversation, though he remained polite. "So, Clint- they've got a pool going on how long it takes before you throw the dog out the window, or he eats all of your furniture."

"Really?" He perked up at the news. "How're the odds looking? I might have enough cash for the buy-in if you want to split the pot. What do you say- fifty fifty?"

Smiling, Natasha began filling him in. Maybe the dog wasn't such a bad idea. He was beginning to act like his old self, little by little.

* * *

After she had completed her weekly checkup on Clint, the women returned to Natasha's borrowed vehicle to begin the trip back to Stark's tower. Pepper had been quiet for the first part of the trip.

"I don't think he liked me very much," the executive commented with a frown. "Did I say something to offend him, Natasha? Was it the clothes? I tried to be casual, like you said-"

Natasha laughed quietly. "No, I think he approves of you just fine."

"Really? I'm getting mixed signals then, since he seemed a bit uncomfortable. Oh, God- I don't want to cause any problems if Tony's going to be working with you both on a regular basis!"

"Pepper, relax. You got complete sentences- that's a mark of approval if there ever was one, coming from Clint. If he didn't like you, he would either stay silent or give you the odd grunt or nod."

The other redhead sighed in relief. Natasha decided to explain further. "You just remind him of someone. Well, you remind us _both_ of someone that he lost- he probably just doesn't know how to react yet. Clint will work it out eventually."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Pepper replied mournfully, her eyes full of sympathy. "I have big shoulders if either of you wants to talk. It helps sometimes."

"It's alright," the agent replied. "If he wants to tell you more, he will- but that's his story to tell. We all have a lot of respect for you- we really do. Anyone who can put up with Tony Stark for as long as you have is formidable indeed."

Pepper chuckled lightly. "I don't know if formidable is quite the effect I'm going for, but I guess it'll have to do. Say, there's a small café near the tower. Would you like to get lunch before we head back? I'm starving."

Natasha smiled, adjusting her sunglasses. "Sounds like fun- we can compare notes about our favorite stubborn, mule-headed men who have no sense of preservation."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note- Special thanks Hawksicle and the other folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, Day 13…_

"I thought we had a strict 'No Pets Allowed' policy here, Barton," the security officer scolded, frowning as Clint led the canine into the main building. The dog gazed around the entryway as he signed in, straining at the leash while trying to smell everything in sight.

"It's not a pet- it's therapy. You got a problem with it, take it up with Director Fury," he countered with a sly smile. "The director signed off on it, and since I can't trust this guy when I'm out all day, he's coming with me."

Clint hated having to sign in- it left a paper trail. Unfortunately, due to his current standing, he was forced to sign in like the regular agents did each time they entered and left the building. Pulling lightly on the leash, he led the dog past the flustered security agent.

The agent ignored the wary looks cast his way as he headed for Medical. There were several calls and waves in greeting from the Ops team members as he passed by, which calmed some of his nervousness. Looking at the sign above the door as he checked in for yet another appointment, he grinned.

If the security guys were pissed about Clint bringing the infernal mutt in, just _imagine_ how the docs were going to react.

* * *

_Bed-Stuy, New York City, Across the street from Hawkeye's apartment, Day 15…_

"Holy shit, man- get over here. The dog took out the coffee maker!" Agent Morris beckoned to the other agent, cackling with glee. "Dude, Barton's gonna be _pissed_!"

"Lemme see," Agent Baraques demanded, motioning for the binoculars. "Oh, man. I think the odds just went up on Hawkeye and the window option."

"No kidding." It was a well-known fact that you did not mess with the coffee maker. Ever. Poor, unsuspecting but well-meaning agents had been chased out of various break rooms in tears by veteran Ops members, who relied on the contents within to keep them going after pulling some of the odd shifts they tended to run.

They passed the binoculars back and forth, giggling at the drama unfolding. This was better than television.

* * *

_Hawkeye's apartment, Day 20…_

"You didn't have to do that," Clint complained, staring at the copy of the rather lengthy email that Natasha had handed him.

She snorted. "Yes, I did. You have barely any furniture left, your surveillance team is eating popcorn instead of doing their job, and you two can barely stand to be in the same room with each other. This has to stop, Clint."

"Why did you email _Maxwell_, of all people? He probably knows less about dogs than I do- he's allergic," the archer asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

"Because, doofus- look at the first paragraph. Maxwell may not be an expert on dogs, especially EOD trained dogs, but who else do you know that may know at least _something_ about them?" she led, arching an eyebrow.

Realization dawned on him. "Oh. Oyuki, right?"

"Yes, Oyuki. Otherwise known as former EOD from the Army until he got medically discharged Oyuki."

Clint re-read the printed email memo, taking in the lengthy response that Agent Maxwell had forwarded. "He's at the Training Center?"

"All of them are," Natasha replied with a smirk. "Your little band of 'Merry Men' is quite the talk of the current batch of recruits. Maxwell is in charge of their training group. He's apparently rather impressed with their progress."

He blinked in surprise. John Maxwell was very hard to impress; the former Marine Corps drill instructor had always had high standards whether they were mainstream or "special" recruits. The archer wasn't sure what category the five survivors of the infiltration squad would fall under.

Clint turned back to Natasha. "They really _recruited_ those guys? Even after the carrier?"

"They did. I _may_ have put in a good word for at least one of them," the redhead answered with a smirk. "It started with Chavez and Reagan, and the rest just sort of fell in with the package. Fury called you a scary judge of talent."

"That explains his little personnel file project they had me working on that first week."

"Clint," she said, putting a hand gently on his arm to get his attention, "everyone deserves another chance. _You_ taught me that. These guys are no different."

"Farnov must _love_ them," he muttered.

She grinned. "Why do you think Maxwell praises them so much? They're making Farnov's life a living hell."

He laughed at that. Agent Farnov was a pain in the ass- never willing to break protocol, no matter what. Farnov was so rigidly bound by the rules that it made him useless as a field agent, but perfect for teaching new recruits. The flexibility with the rules required for a good agent usually wound up developing after they ran missions with a more experienced team.

"Oyuki had some good ideas," Natasha pointed out. She poked him in the ribs quickly. "Your dog is probably bored and needs to get out more. Just like you, I might add. Taking him with you the other day was a good start. He actually looked _happy_."

Clint nodded. "He didn't chew anything up either. We had pizza for dinner to celebrate."

"You and your pizza. You're quite capable of making your own, you know."

"Not when they've still got my accounts frozen."

She scoffed. "We _both_ know that's not your only account. That's just an excuse to not leave the house, I think."

The agent looked up at her. "Think Fury'll be pissed if I bring him with me to HQ? As in, regularly?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of you getting back into shape by finding a park to run in, but that works too, I guess. You know the Director. He'll probably flip his lid. Though you could always use the therapy excuse again."

Clint's mischievous smile warmed her little assassin heart.

* * *

"There we go," Clint announced, setting the new television in place and cursing whoever designed them to be so difficult to move without an extra pair of arms. He pulled out the instruction manual for the DVD player that he had purchased to go with the new setup, preparing to connect the small nest of cables that came with it.

Arrow observed quietly, his ears perked up. He tilted his head to the side, whining softly. The unusually relaxed German Shepherd had claimed Clint's spot on the couch to watch the activity. Clint suspected he was observing the new device for potential weaknesses and chew points.

"What are you looking at?" he challenged, watching the dog's every move as he flipped to the next page. "It's your fault, you know. If you chew _this_ one up, you really _will_ go out the window. Shit- they just _had_ to use yellow, didn't they? "

He stumbled through the setup of the flat panel television, hooking up the battered digital signal box with relative ease and wondering why he had let Tasha remind him of his "spare" bank accounts. The DVD player remained in its packaging container, the tangled mess of colorful cables tucked haphazardly within after he had given up trying to tell the colors apart.

The alarm clock sounded from the direction of his countertop, warning him that it was dinnertime. With a groan, he headed for the kitchen to see what Natasha had left him. Thankfully, they all appeared to be his favorite selections, not that he was picky of course. Food was food these days.

Selecting one of the more appealing boxes, he set it in the microwave and set the timer. Turning around, he poured some dog food into Arrow's dish, then topped off the water dish. The microwave finally beeped, allowing him to retrieve his meal.

After plucking a beer from the refrigerator, he sat down to begin an evening of food, beer, and whichever ballgame he could find out of the channels available. Settling for some good old fashioned football, Clint propped his feet up on the poorly repaired coffee table.

The table creaked under the weight, causing him to frown and tentatively put his feet back on the floor.

There was a grumble next to him. Turning his head, Clint sighed. He poured a small amount of beer into the plastic tray and lowered it down to the floor.

"Lush," he accused, watching the dog lap up the froth while the ballgame played on. "Don't you dare tell Nat- she'll kill me for falling into redneck territory, and I don't have the patience for an intervention."

Arrow merely yipped in contentment.

* * *

_Hawkeye's apartment, Day 23…_

"Open the door, bro!" an annoying voice shouted.

The heavy Russian accent revealed that Clint's landlord had finally decided to pay a visit to his tenants. Groaning, he slipped into jeans and a shirt. Stalking to the door, he opened it as far as the stout chain would allow.

Ivan's thick mustache almost wiggled as he glared at Clint, a small set of papers wrinkling in his iron grip. "You get notice of change in rent, bro."

"Change in rent?" Clint asked, blinking his bleary eyes in confusion. "Rent's not due 'til the first, Ivan."

The large man laughed, crumbs from a pastry of some sort dropping off of the mustache. There was a chuckle from one of Ivan's "tracksuit mafia" goons that accompanied him wherever he went. "These are just change in terms- rent has tripled now."

"You gotta be kidding me." Clint unlatched the door chain and opened the door to face the landlord, taking the piece of paper the man was waving at him. Simone approached, holding a similar document as one of the other neighbors stood complaining.

"He can't do this, Clint! We can't afford to pay that much for this rathole," she cried, waving her oldest child back into the apartment.

He examined the fine print on the bottom document- a photocopy of the original lease agreement that he hadn't read in five years. "I don't know, Simone. Based on the original paperwork, I think he can. He's got it in the fine print. _Really_ fine print."

Looking at the extra number on the bottom of the new lease agreement, Clint's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is this bit here?"

"Pet deposit," the landlord declared proudly. "I am _so_ glad Mr. Stark gave me idea- you want to keep dog, you pay deposit again. I decide, however, you pay each month."

Looking up at the man, Clint gaped. "Each month? Are you _nuts?_"

"Is as I say, bro," Ivan replied. "You want dog, you _pay_ for dog. You got sixty days to decide, stay or go."

A low growl rose from beside the archer as Arrow poked his head out the door. The Russian's eyes narrowed as they glared at each other. "Maybe I should increase deposit. You have _big_ dog for simple pet, bro."

"He's not a pet, asshole," Clint corrected angrily. This was why he had hated moving into an apartment. The last few weeks had him convinced that the powers that be were trying to force him to move back into his house at Mill Basin.

Ivan's laughter at his tenants' misfortune faded as he and the other tenants compared their new lease agreements. Not one of them would be able to afford the overpriced rates.

Old Sam Pritchard spoke up first. "They're trying to force us outta here. Used to see it all the time at my old place. Landlord raises the rent, everyone moves out, and he bulldozes it or something to make way for brand new condos."

"Where are we gonna go?" Simone asked, folding up her papers. "This was one of the only places close enough to work and Lavar's school that we could manage."

"We'll have to figure something out," Clint sighed, returning to his apartment. His alarm rang again, announcing it was time for breakfast.

As he headed for the kitchen again, the archer picked up his phone to call Natasha with the newest bit of apartment drama. He paused, his thumb on the send button. Muttering to himself, he cleared the number and set the phone down. She had already done so much for him already- the last thing she needed was his whining about Ivan's newest shenanigans.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note- Special thanks Hawksicle and the other folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Hawkeye's apartment building, Day 29…_

Clint awoke to the sound of barking and the scent of smoke filling his nostrils. "What the-"

Arrow tugged at his sleeve, dragging him towards the edge of the bed and whining as the agent tumbled to the floor. The dog was panicked, and glanced around the room nervously while Clint shook his head in order to focus his thoughts as he stumbled towards the living room.

There was heat emanating from the hallway, and smoke was seeping underneath his front door. Cursing, he darted back into his room to dress and pull his shoes on. Following the shoes was a quick trip to his closet, where he reached for a backpack.

He had been in the habit of keeping an emergency bag long before he had joined SHIELD- one never knew when you would have to make a quick getaway. He stashed his important pictures and papers in the main pouch along with a large, sealed metal box and his usual emergency supplies before swinging it up onto his back.

The agent moved to the living room, feeling the door with the back of his hand. While the fire escape was his favored option at this point, he wasn't sure how well the dog could climb. There were also the neighbors to consider.

His recent stint holed up in his home had forced him to get to know more about them. He knew they could be jerks most of the time, but there were a few, like Simone, that rated at least an attempt to make sure they got out in one piece.

The door was warm, but didn't burn his skin. He tested the doorknob next, finding it still only lukewarm. Turning, he ran to the window, grunting slightly as he forced it open. Looking back to the dog, he quickly knelt down and lifted the surprised canine, setting him gently on the fire escape platform.

"Stay," he ordered the dog, holding up a hand to reinforce the command. Arrow hated fire- he had discovered that during one of the few times he attended the roof potluck that Simone had dragged him to. The grill master, who went by the original nickname of Grills, hadn't been happy about the resulting destruction. "I'm just gonna check on Simone and the kids, okay? I'll be right back. _Stay_."

He turned back and raced out the door, grabbing a dish towel and ignoring the loud whines coming from behind him. Bracing himself, he opened the front door and entered the hallway, the towel held firmly over his mouth and nose. The smoke stung his eyes as he tried to locate Simone's apartment.

The flames were growing, crawling along the walls and lingering on the ceiling. High pitched cries came from her doorway.

"Help us! Somebody, help us!" the voices cried.

Clint's heart almost stopped. The children were clinging to their unconscious mother, who was trapped by an overturned bookcase. Her oldest boy, Lavar, was trying valiantly to lift it, but he was far too small to do more than shift it slightly.

Reaching down, he gripped the bookcase and shoved it aside. Simone showed signs of agent shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her further. "Wake up, Simone. You gotta get up now!"

A shriek from Annie, Simone's daughter, caught his attention. Seconds later, a strong arm snaked around his neck, dragging him away from the family. "Nuh-uh, Mister Nice Guy. You ain't gonna interfere _this_ time. We all are gonna _burn_."

"Maurice! Let him _go_," the woman begged while trying to stand up. She braced herself on the one wall that wasn't on fire. "He's got nothin' to do with this!"

"We're all gonna be _purified_. We gonna pay for our sins with our flesh, and we gonna _burn!_" Clint could see the man's face now. His eyes were wild, with pupils so small they were nearly the size of pinheads. He had a manic expression on his face.

"I thought you were getting the restraining- _urgh!_" Clint's voice was cut off by the arm tightening around his throat. Enough was enough, the archer decided, finally getting tired of getting kicked around.

He elbowed the other man with as much strength as he could muster. As soon as he felt the other man tense up to absorb the blow and immediately reached up to poke the man in the eyes in a manner that would make Larry, Moe, and Curly proud. This was not a simple comedic maneuver, however- an assassin like Clint could turn it into a killing blow with the right motivation.

The man howled, letting his grip loosen enough for the archer to slip out of his grasp. Kicking out to the side, he heard a _snap _as the man's knee buckled. The madman fell to his other knee, screeching in pain. Clint turned to face Simone.

"Go! Get out now- knock on doors if you have to, but get outta here. This place looks like it's gonna go up anytime now."

She gathered her small brood, turning back to Clint. "What about you?"

"I'll be right behind you. I'm just gonna finish things up here and I'll be right there."

She gulped. "Be careful- I don't think he was alone."

Nodding, he turned back to the muttering ex-boyfriend while . "We're not done yet, asshole."

Cursing SHIELD's 'no weapons allowed for agents recovering from possession' clause, Number 24983-P, to be exact, he dashed over to the kitchen counter and reached for the block that held his neighbor's kitchen knives. Pulling a sharp blade out, he turned to find a fist in his face.

* * *

Arrow was getting tired of waiting for his human to return. Something was wrong. As annoying as the man was, he _did_ provide for his food and had kept him away from the foul smelling Vet Office and Kennels.

The fire was entering the rest of the hallway, and beginning to fill the living room with the Evil Noisy Picture Box That Must Be Destroyed and the small room that held the Evil Noisemaker that Clint had called a "vacuum".

The only thing worse than the Noisy Picture Box was Fire, in the German Shepherd's opinion. Fire had destroyed everything.

He had been happy in the desert, even if it had been terribly hot and the sand made his fur itch. At least he had been with Corporal Terry- the young human was his friend and partner- they had understood each other's every movement. Arrow knew how to tell Terry there was a Dangerous Thing hidden in the trunk of a car or that closet over there, and Terry had trusted Arrow's instincts as if they were his own. They were a _team_.

Fire had taken Corporal Terry, as well as the other men in Terry's pack- the smiling men that joked and laughed and snuck him treats when his handler wasn't looking. All gone because of fire, smoke, and noise.

This new human wasn't so bad, Arrow had decided, but that didn't mean he had to make it easy for the man. "Clint," "Barton," or "Hawkeye" as he was called, was angry, sad, and damaged- they both were. Clint didn't understand him, not the way Terry had. He kept forgetting that Arrow was a soldier too, but the Shepherd felt he was learning quickly. That didn't stop the man from giving Arrow the best fight _ever_ to decide who was Alpha in the household.

Whining, he took a tentative step forward, leaning on the window sill. His sensitive ears picked up another noise over the sound of the flames- the sound of humans struggling. There was another sound, like glass breaking and splintering wood, followed by snarling human voices.

One of the voices was Clint's. Arrow made a decision: no more handlers were dying on _his_ watch.

* * *

Clint dodged another vase, spinning around to swipe at one of the new additions to the fight. Two men lay on the floor bleeding, Maurice was still limping and barking orders, and this one had just joined the party. Coughing from the extra smoke that filled the room, he deftly trapped the man's outstretched palm and twisted it back towards the thug, pinning the man to the wall with his shoulder as he planted his knee in the man's groin. The unknown thug squeaked and slid to the floor.

Anyone who had ever fought Clint Barton could heartily agree on one thing- the archer fought dirty.

A sudden burst of pain brought stars into his vision as Maurice slammed a chair into his back. Stunned, he wobbled as he tried to recover. The psycho brought the chair down again, slamming Clint to the floor. He lay on his back, unable to stand as waves of pain shot down his spine.

Maurice's manic grin grew as he watched the archer's struggle. The larger man reached over to take hold of Simone's pitifully thin coat stand, smashing it against a corner of the wall. The shattered end lingered menacingly over Clint's chest as the archer struggled to get off of the ground.

"Say goodbye, little man," his attacker snarled, when a large, dark shape barreled into him.

Clint blinked, his eyes stinging again from the smoke. Arrow had clamped onto the man's arm, refusing to let go. He savagely shook his head back and forth, his growls and snarls drowning out Maurice's shrieks. The dog's brave attempt to defend him urged Clint to his feet, his hand curling around the fallen knife hilt.

There was a yelp as Arrow was thrown to the side, crashing into the remains of the bookshelf. The canine let out a whine and fell to the ground again. Barton looked over to see a small hole in the dog's shoulder, and turned back to see Maurice holding the bloody impromptu spear.

"That's _it_," Clint snarled. "_Nobody_ fucks with my dog. _Nobody_."

The resulting fight was brutal and swift. A crippled, bleeding man with an improvised weapon was hardly a match for an assassin like Clint, especially once he had gotten hold of a blade. Dodging the haphazard swings of the broken pole, he swiftly swept the other man's good leg and dropped him to his knees. A quick catch of the wrist kept the pole out of reach. Clint finished by spinning around behind the man, slipping the knife across his throat with an ease that spoke of years of experience.

He stumbled over to the large do, groaning under Arrow's weight. Slowly, he made his way out the door and headed for safety as the fire engulfed Simone's apartment.

* * *

An hour later, Clint sat on the front stoop of the building next door, his eyes still tearing up as he caught his breath. He held a set of borrowed bandages from the nearby ambulance, pressing it to Arrow's wound while he waited for his ride to show up.

The wound didn't appear to have done more than damaged muscle and tissue, but it would take an examination by a vet to tell for sure. His dog lay curled up next to him, his head nestled on the archer's lap. They watched as the firefighters aimed their hoses, trying in vain to put out the flames billowing from his former home.

Clint wondered at what point Arrow had gone from being "that mutt" to being "his dog." Looking down at the German Shepherd, he smiled. He could get used to having a dog. Maybe Stark's crazy idea wasn't so bad after all.

Thinking about his team brought a frown to his face. The surveillance team that had been watching his every move should have seen the fire, even shortly after it had started, and contacted the Fire Department. Nobody had heard any smoke detectors going off, but that could have been due to Ivan's negligence. They were lucky that all the residents had gotten out safe- even Mrs. Thompson's little terrier, Mitzi, who she had cleverly hidden from the landlord.

If the surveillance team hadn't told anyone about the fire, or even called it in, just what were they doing when they were supposed to be watching his back? Was hatred of Clint Barton after the Loki Incident that strong that they would allow innocent people to be hurt, or possibly die?

Clint was deep in thought when he heard someone approach. A familiar voice tutted at him. "You're a hard guy to track down, Clint. Long time no see."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note- Special thanks Hawksicle and the other folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's. Brooklyn South (Small reference here) doesn't belong to me either.

* * *

Clint watched the newcomer as he took a seat on the stoop. "Hey."

"No contact for five years, and 'hey' is the best you can do? You're disappointin' me, man."

The archer shrugged, looking down to press the bandage back down on Arrow's shoulder wound. The stocky man sitting next to him sighed, turning his cellphone over repeatedly in a nervous gesture. He winced as he watched the building burn. "So _this_ is where you've been living? With Ivan the Terrible? Geez- you shoulda _told_ me you were looking. I could have gotten you a spot at my old complex."

Clint nodded, a small smile forming. His brother-in-law had always had an odd sense of humor. Or, ex brother-in-law. No, he determined. He was still brother-in-law. Phil wouldn't hear of any other thought to the contrary.

When Clint had married Laura, he hadn't realized how close her family was, and how serious his new extended family took the concept of family loyalty and traditions. He had been amused by her insistence that he ask her brother for permission to take her out on a date- especially when he found out that the her brother was actually the youngest of the four Roussakoff children.

Phil, a beat cop with the NYPD at the time, had been amused but appreciated his efforts to respect their traditions. The two had hit it off, often inviting each other's families over for barbecues, card games, or to just watch a ballgame when Clint wasn't out on a mission.

When Laura and the kids had been murdered, Phil and Kathleen had been there for him as best they could until he turned away from them. Clint couldn't stomach the idea of bringing their family into harm's way after he had found his way back to SHIELD. He had thrown himself back into work, trying to forget his dreams of ever having a normal life.

"So," Phil drawled, "the dog is new. Didn't think you were one for pets."

"He's therapy," Clint snapped out of reflex. "Not a pet."

The detective chuckled, standing up and digging his keys out of his pocket. "Well, it looks like your 'not a pet' is gonna need some stitches. C'mon- I know a guy over at the K9 Unit who owes me a favor. I'll give you a lift."

Clint shrugged, looking back at Arrow. So much for staying out of their lives; now that Phil had found him, the detective would most likely fight to make sure he didn't disappear again. Family loyalty and all that.

He _could_ take Arrow to the SHIELD K9 unit, but he wasn't sure it was a wise idea until he knew where he stood with the agency. "Okay."

Picking up the dog, he laid him on the back seat of the unmarked police car that Phil had pointed to while the other man spoke briefly with the officers from the local precinct who were monitoring the crowd. Shortly afterwards, the detective climbed in the car and headed downtown.

* * *

The vet manning the night shift at the NYPD K9 Unit headquarters muttered softly as he examined the wound, gently prodding it with a tongue depressor. "Well, there's been some slight damage to the muscles that needs to be repaired and we'll have to remove some splinters, but we should be able to get him fixed up and on his feet."

Clint let out a sigh of relief, lightly scratching the dog behind his ears. The veterinarian nodded at his assistant, who passed over a set of consent forms. He read them quickly and signed, wincing as he estimated what the bill was going to be. After sedating the German Shepherd, they wheeled him away into an operating chamber.

He rejoined Phil in the receiving area. His brother-in-law wasted no time in confronting him. "So, we've got some time. Care to tell me where you've been?"

Clint wasn't in the mood to say much. "Around."

Phil's expression grew cold. "That's bullshit and you know it. We're family, Clint. First, Mom passed, and then we lost Laura and the kids in the same year- we were afraid we'd lost you too. Kathleen cried for a week when you vanished after the memorial service."

Clint hadn't expected his in-laws to take it so hard when he dropped out of touch with them. He hadn't had much experience with a stable family until he met Laura, so there were things that surprised him constantly about how one treated another.

"I didn't want you guys to get hurt," he finally said, bowing his head. "Not after, you know… "

Phil nodded sadly. "I guess I do, but that doesn't mean I agree with it. You shouldn't have dealt with it alone."

"I wasn't alone," he challenged.

Roussakoff shrugged, then shook his head. "Not the same. It's just not the same."

"I've been _fine_, Phil. It was hard at first, but I _got over_ it."

"You don't _look_ over it. The bags in your eyes have bags."

The archer cupped his face in his hands with a groan. "Just some problems at work."

"Anything we need to be made aware of, if only for professional courtesy?" Phil arched an eyebrow, giving him an appraising glance. He knew that Clint worked for a government agency but not much more. "Does this have anything to do with you making like Robin Hood during that invasion three months ago?"

Clint's tired eyes widened. He turned to look the other man in the eye. "You knew?"

"I do now," the detective smirked. "They called a bunch of us in to reinforce the Manhattan precincts. Anyone that's a good shot wound up takin' potshots at those assholes. I saw you on the Viaduct."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Phil shrugged. "We were a bit preoccupied at the time. I figured if you wanted to talk later, you would. Guess I should have said something- I didn't realize you'd drop off the grid again afterwards."

"Yeah, not by choice," he muttered, freezing as he realized what he had said.

"I see," the other man replied, picking up on the quiet comment.

"Aw, fuck it all." The SHIELD agent sighed. There was something about Phil's demeanor that made people want to tell him what was bothering them, no matter who it was. Natasha was convinced that he was an undiscovered mutant or something; Clint believed that he had just missed his calling as a psychologist.

He spent the next hour telling the detective what little he could without endangering national security. This time, it felt different than discussing it with the SHIELD psych team, or even Natasha. Each time, he had felt like he was being judged and found wanting, and the pity he had seen in their eyes just made his self-esteem issues worse.

Perhaps it was due to the policeman being a neutral party. Roussakoff was a cop, first and foremost, and firmly grounded in morality and a sense of fairness that could put Steve Rogers to shame. Phil's sense of right and wrong could at times bring him into conflict with his fellow officers, but he held firm to the belief that everyone deserved a fair shot at redemption. If he believed someone was a good person, regardless of their background, no amount of peer pressure could convince him to ostracize or retaliate against them.

"So, you shot your commander while being mind-controlled by the meathead in charge of this invasion, and your bosses are still afraid that he's got control somehow," Phil recounted. "You know, if we hadn't had a bunch of aliens drop in on us recently, I would have dragged you to the nearest detox facility and asked that they do a full workup."

"It sounds worse than it is?" Clint replied with a wince.

The detective scratched his head as he focused on the details. "One thing bugs me, buddy. Judging from what I've been told by Laura and your handiwork at the house that night, what you do is a bit like what our ESU guys are trained for, but a bit more extreme. That being said, _why_ is your boss not dead?"

The agent blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you shot him, right?"

"Yeah."

"You were ordered to kill him, right?"

Clint nodded.

"Our guys, when they want to drop someone permanently, go for headshots. And that's just it- you didn't take the head shot."

"Oh." It was all so simple- he wasn't sure why he hadn't thought about it himself. Why had nobody else mentioned it? Three months of beating himself up, when he should have realized that he _had_ tried to resist Loki after all.

He suddenly remembered he had missed Hill multiple times when they had made their getaway from the PEGASUS facility. Clint Barton _never_ missed.

With a weak groan, he collapsed back against the seat. "I'm sorry, Phil. You're right. I shouldn't have stayed away."

"You bet your ass I'm right," the detective replied with a smirk.

Clint turned to face him again, a wry smile on his face. "Three months. Three _months_ of therapy, and all it takes is a couple of hours with you to somehow make things make sense. This is what I miss about our little talks."

"Whatever. It's time to get your head out of your ass and back in the game."

"Now you're starting to sound like another Phil I know. Or my partner."

"That Rushman chick? She was _hot_," Phil said, then his eyes widened. "Do _not_ tell Kathleen I said that."

"We never had this conversation." Clint laughed, leaning back in the seat. "Oh, God- now what?"

The detective stood, pulling out his phone as he noticed the vet walking down the hallway. "Well, I'd say the first thing we do is collect your 'not a pet' from the good doctor here, and then we go back to my place. Kathleen and the kids would love to see you, and it looks like you'll need to start hunting for a new place. You look like you could use a little break."

The archer pondered the idea. Maybe it was time to take a little break and reconnect. "Yeah. That sounds like a good plan."

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, 6 days later…_

"_You clowns want to explain to me why one of our top assets is _still_ missing after a week?" Agent Blake asked, pinning the nervous junior agents with a hard stare. "And on a side note, any idea _how_ he went missing in the first place?"_

"_Well, uh, sir- you see," the agent sputtered, giving a lengthy explanation on the possible reasons why Barton had disappeared again. Some speculated that he had had a relapse and was secretly plotting to take down SHIELD again. Others thought he had died in the fire. _

"_Don't give me that bullshit, gentlemen. You had one simple job: watch Barton for any signs of brainwashing relapses, and keep him out of trouble. You were _supposed_ to have his back. Do you want to explain why, if you were _right across the street_, the building managed to be halfway up in flames before the Fire Department was called."_

_One of the agents gulped. "Sir, we believed that Agent Barton was competent enough to detect the presence of fire. There were smoke alarms installed-"_

"_The man lived in a firetrap run by a slumlord. Do you honestly think that the safety equipment in that building was anywhere near up to code?" Both heads shook negatively. "Did it also occur to you to remember that Barton is on prescription sleep medication and he may have been too out of it to respond? You're both damn lucky he had the fucking dog to do your job for you."_

Fury watched the interrogation from his office as Romanoff stood beside him. He was tempted to allow the Black Widow to do her own questioning, but he was too aware that doing so would most likely lead to a pair of bodybags and a heap of paperwork.

He was disgusted by the junior agents' negligence. There was no excuse for the two to have allowed a fire to get out of control while running surveillance. If it hadn't been for Barton and the other civilians calling the authorities, there may have been civilian casualties. Forensics had determined the fire to be arson, and were currently letting the NYPD handle the investigation, especially when at least one body had been discovered.

Statements identified the attacker as one of the tenant's former boyfriends, and the suspicion was that he was working for the landlord. Fury didn't care about the arson investigation or even the potential Russian mafia involvement; he just wanted his agent found and brought back to SHIELD, safe and sound.

Natasha cleared her throat. "Sir, I would like permission to follow up a lead."

"What do you have in mind?"

"There's one more location we may be able to find Barton at, though I'd like to keep it under the table. Hawkeye's gone to great lengths to keep it discreet."

"Go ahead," Fury replied with a nod. "We've checked his house in Mill Basin, and it's as wrapped up as ever. No calls from his phone currently, so we're going to have to assume he's either unconscious, has no equipment, or just plain doesn't want to be found. Judging by the shitty excuse for backup he had, it's no wonder he's off the grid."

"Thank you, sir."

He snorted. "When you find him, tell him I want his ass back in my office so we can have a discussion about proper contact protocols for taking unscheduled vacations. Dismissed."

* * *

_Later that evening…_

Clint had been enjoying his time off. The kids were as energetic as ever, and he relaxed for the first time in five years. His in-laws treated him as if he had never left, aside from some scolding from Kathleen. Most importantly, they knew he had been through a great ordeal but still treated him as a human being and not as a fragile piece of glass or a monster.

He had been sleeping properly, too. There was something about the ability to forget the part of him that was the SHIELD assassin that had settled the odd sensations in his head. For the first time in months, he felt rested.

There was a low growl that brought him out of his current slumber. Clint lifted his head to spot Natasha sitting in the small armchair next to the guest room bed. "Tasha."

Her face was rigid enough that it could have been made of porcelain. "Seven days, Clint."

"Sorry."

"Sorry? I didn't know where you were, or if you were even alive. You never shut me out like that before," she accused, leaning forward. "You look better though. You're not half thrashed."

"Well, you know- good food, good company," he shrugged, sitting up to face her. "Nat, I'm sorry. God, I've been saying that a lot these days."

Her eyes narrowed. "I thought you said you were staying away from them. It's dangerous, Clint."

"Sometimes, you gotta take a risk." He drew his knees up to his chin, setting a hand on the bandaged dog's scruff. "I needed it, Tasha. I just needed some time to level out... away from SHIELD and everyone else."

His partner frowned, and he could see that she was disappointed by the idea that all of her efforts hadn't been what he needed. "Look- I think the stuff from five years ago kind of built up until recently, and then the Loki thing just added to it. With all the shit that's gone on in the last couple of weeks, I think I finally got my head on straight, for whatever it's worth."

"Sounds like you got another classic Phil Roussakoff Pep Talk."

Arrow shifted, crawling over to lay his head over the edge of the bed. His eyes peered up at her, and he let out a low whine.

"Suck up," Clint accused, rubbing him behind his ears affectionately. The dog moaned happily. "Don't mind him. The kids have got him spoiled."

She smiled. "Sounds like you've grown on one another."

"Like fungus," he replied. "What do you think about Stark's offer?"

"I think it's worth looking into. Strategically, it makes sense to have the team all together, and he does have a state of the art security system. Speaking of which, this house really needs an upgrade."

"Remind me to talk to them about that," he muttered. The house was a decent size, but it wasn't the newest building on the block by far. Phil and Kathleen loved it though, and tried to give it the tender loving care it needed when they could afford it. He would have to do something about that, if only to repay them for their hospitality.

"The idea has strategic and tactical merit," she continued, "and personally, I don't trust SHIELD with you right now. The two idiots in charge of that so-called surveillance operation just abandoned you. I don't care what happened with Loki- you were brainwashed, and it's not like you had any control over your loyalties. They're stupid if they can't see it too."

"We can't ignore that there's a bit of a breach of trust, here," he reasoned. "Geez, Nat- they look at me like I'm a time bomb, or a snake crawling around waiting to bite them."

"Clint," Natasha smirked, shaking her head. "You've _always_ been a time bomb. They just never gave you the healthy respect they should have until they had it thrown in their faces. The Council has always been afraid of you- you're their bogeyman."

He hung his head. His partner reached out with a finger, tilting his head up gently as she spoke. "They're afraid of me too."

"Well," Clint replied, "I guess if El Destructo here's gonna chew shit up, it might as well be on Stark's dime. It _was_ his idea, after all. Think he gets cable?"


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note- Special thanks Hawksicle and the other folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

_Special Note- Reviewer Amy, I can't take credit for brother-in-law Phil- he's a TV show character from Brooklyn South that I happened to add in because he just sort of fit in to the storyline :)_

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

Pepper answered her phone tentatively, not recognizing the number, especially at three o'clock in the morning. "This is Pepper Potts."

"_Hello Pepper."_ Natasha's clipped voice greeted her. _"We're going to need rules."_

"I'm sorry?" The executive blinked in confusion. She was used to Natasha being blunt when she spoke, but this was just confusing. "I don't understand-"

"_We're going to need rules. For Stark and anyone else at the tower, if his offer still stands."_

"Offer… oh. Oh! Of _course_, he's still offering," she exclaimed, finally putting together Romanoff's cryptic wording. "The rooms have been ready for a couple of weeks now, minus some specialization, of course. We weren't sure if you had any specifics that you would need to be comfortable."

She could visualize Natasha's light smile. _"We won't need much, so long as it's safe."_

"I understand," Pepper said with a nod, internally filing away the 'we.' She pulled out a tablet and opened a new note file, stylus held ready. "You said there needed to be rules?"

"_No zombies. Movies or otherwise. No zombies."_

The executive tilted her head in amusement. "That's an odd one. Tony's a bit of a horror fan, or was anyway, but I'll talk to him about it. Can I ask why?"

"_Clint has highly classified reasons. As for myself, I find them repulsive."_

"Okay." That didn't sound unreasonable, though the comment about classified reasons intrigued her. Pepper reminded herself to avoid telling Tony so that he wouldn't be tempted to pry.

"_Our rooms will be private. No impromptu visits unless it's an emergency. We have lots of weapons, and we can be a bit twitchy if surprised. I would ask that Stark stay out of our files, but we both know he's incapable of doing so."_

"Uh huh. I think that's fair." She underlined the note three times for emphasis.

"_No blues, no yellows. Preferably, no pinks."_

"Alright." The executive added the note.

"_No James Bond jokes."_ Pepper hid a laugh. _"No Robin Hood, Katniss, or any other assorted famous archer jokes. Though, he doesn't seem to mind 'Legolas,'and he's ok with William Tell. Even if he did use a crossbow."_

"Okay. Is there anything else?"

Natasha sighed. _"The dog stays. Oh, and Stark never hears that his little plan worked way better than it should have."_

"Really?" Pepper leaned back in her seat and opened another file on her tablet. "How so? Tony is thinking of starting a program for the dogs here at the Tower- sort of a security patrol. It wouldn't be hard to walk around and just stay alert, so it may provide an outlet for the older dogs that are retired at the regular age. It's his latest obsession, which will probably fade in about six months, but the idea does have some merit."

"_I'll admit it's not a bad thought. It would help cover Clint coming in and out of the building with Arrow. We would prefer to be discreet,"_ Natasha reasoned. _"If Stark has any problems with it-"_

"Oh, no," the strawberry blonde replied excitedly. "You have no idea how _thrilled_ he'll be to hear the news. Tony probably won't show it on the outside, of course, but it will truly mean a lot to him. To be honest, I think he misses you all, and you've only spent a little time together. He… felt a connection, he says."

Natasha chuckled. _"It's called realizing you're part of something special. I would know- it happened to me when I first joined SHIELD."_

"It's possible. Tony's had a rather… unusual upbringing. Now, one thing I do ask that you both do is to please take him with a grain of salt. He's not used to having friends, so he may put his foot in his mouth at times, or meddle when he shouldn't. If he does, please let me know first so that I can handle it without causing him to lock himself up in his lab or something."

"_I thought that was a rumor."_

Pepper smiled. "Sometimes the strongest rumors have some basis in truth."

* * *

_Stark Tower…_

Tony stumbled into the large, communal kitchen and fumbled for a coffee mug. He filled it partway, his attention drawn to the noise coming from the living room.

He hadn't left the television on.

"Jarvis," he called warily. "Why is the television on?"

"_Agent Barton has activated it, sir."_

The engineer blinked in surprise and turned to look into the living room. Agent Barton was sitting on his couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. A greasy pizza box sat on the floor next to him along with a six-pack of beer. Cartoons played on the large flatscreen television, and Tony observed the quiet snickers in unison with the characters' crazy antics. Agent Romanoff was curled up on the other end, asleep.

Sitting on the couch next to him was the dog. Its shoulder was wrapped in bandages. He watched in fascination as the dog stared at the television.

Shaking himself back to reality, he approached the couch in time to watch the agent tear a piece of pizza into smaller sections and feed them to the dog. "Jarvis, why is there a SHIELD agent on my couch?"

"_Miss Potts provided access when Agents Barton and Romanoff moved in last night, sir."_

"Moved in? After all that fuss about independence and such?"

Barton leaned his head back and looked back at the engineer. "I, uh, kinda got evicted."

"Since when?" Tony froze, stunned at the news.

"Since my apartment burned down a week ago."

"I promise that despite entertaining some fantasies about the _very_ same idea, I had _nothing_ to do with it."

"I blame the tracksuit mafia," the agent deadpanned. "Assholes."

"Tracksuit…" the engineer trailed off, walking over to the armchair positioned next to the couch. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Not really." Barton reached down to pluck a beer from its plastic holder.

Tony sat quietly for a minute, then nodded sharply. "Alright then. Pass me one of those?"

With a laugh, Barton tossed him one of the cans. The agent turned to stare at the dog, who was watching his every move. "_No_, you alcoholic. It'll mess with your pain meds. That shit sucks big time, and I'm tired of cleaning up after you- _especially_ if you barf."

Tony watched in amusement as the dog flopped down dejectedly, returning to stare at the television. The other agent began to stir, taking in the change in the room. She nodded to Stark, then rolled her eyes at the selection on the TV.

Romanoff jolted as her phone rang. She spoke softly, then set the phone down. Turning to Barton, she caught his eyes. "Fury."

"Yeah? What'd he want?"

"Psych appointment first thing Monday morning. He wants you cleared before the week is out."

The agent snorted. "He misses me that much?"

"I think he's just concerned. He's got a mission already lined up for you." She kept her gaze on Barton, ignoring the other people filing into the room. Bruce appeared confused at their presence, while Pepper was wearing a smile. Clint began cleaning up the pizza box mess and beer, heading to the kitchen.

He finished by placing what was left of the six pack in the refrigerator and returned to his seat on the couch. "Does he, now?"

"Yes," the redhead replied with a smile as he flopped back on the couch. "Escort duty for the Keynote Speaker attending the next SHIELD Training Graduation."

Tony's elevator pinged, drawing everyone's attention to the main entryway. To their surprise, the man that walked through the door was none other than Agent Phil Coulson. He was accompanied closely by Agent Jasper Sitwell, who trailed after him like a worried mother hen.

Coulson looked at the other two SHIELD agents, sighing heavily. "Good. You're both here. That's a relief. I'm here to debrief you both."

Pepper gasped, running up to embrace the agent. He winced at her tight hug. The billionaire stared at him, stunned. His mouth gaped silently, until he finally found the first words that came to mind. "S-security breach!"

Bruce looked even more confused, his finger moving from one person to the next, taking a headcount. He looked like he wanted to retreat to his lab.

Romanoff looked shocked. Tony wasn't sure if the reappearance of the senior SHIELD agent was as much of a surprise to her as it was to the rest of them. Barton, he knew had been on lockdown and was therefore out of the loop; he most likely hadn't known either.

To his further surprise, Barton merely held out his right hand, beckoning at Romanoff. She rolled her eyes, dug in her pocket, and slapped a folded up bill into his hand. The archer smirked. "Told ya."

Tony Stark smiled, feeling less alone than he had in a long, long time.

* * *

_VA Hospital, undisclosed location…_

The wounded soldier growled in frustration, tossing the harness handed to him by the nurse over into a corner with a yell. The physical therapy technician just sighed, shaking his head. They had been working with the soldier for several weeks, testing a new prosthetic limb from Stark Industries.

Stark had graciously funded a project to assist wounded infantry in trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. After abandoning weapons development, part of the company's budget had been re-routed into developing medical technology.

Part of the new development plan included supporting Stark's idea of specializing in high-grade metal prosthetic limbs, and had been donating some of their prototypes to the veterans returning from the Middle East.

Corporal Bertram was one of the testers who had been volunteered by his command in hopes of salvaging his ability to serve in the Army. The young man knew he might be stuck behind a desk or far away from the front lines with a missing lower leg, but he could still do his part. He could still be a soldier.

Bertram cursed softly, knowing that the psychologist was going to have a field day with him again. He had been undergoing therapy sessions after losing his entire squad, and the docs back in the desert had sworn he wouldn't make it home.

The soldier was currently been frustrated at his lack of progress with the new limb replacement. His nerves constantly stung, and he was having a difficult time coordinating the steps, making it almost impossible to even walk. Bertram felt despair yet again as he tripped for the fifth time today. Some of the docs had initially called him a hopeless case, and he was beginning to believe them.

He vaguely remembered the visit from Captain America. The supersoldier was the hero that Bertram had always aspired to be, and he had been honored that the man would take time to visit, even if only to make him more comfortable on his deathbed. Captain Rogers had even promised to look in on Arrow.

Arrow hadn't taken losing Terry very well, and from what the other soldiers had told him, was most likely going to wind up euthanized before he injured or killed someone due to his new aggressive and savage demeanor. He had had a sliver of hope that Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark may be able to do something to help. The dog was, after all, the only other member of the squad left. So far, he hadn't heard anything, and by the time he had managed to start his recovery, the dog was gone- most likely dead too. Another hopeless case.

"Hopeless," he told himself, shaking his head. The physical therapist hovered anxiously nearby. "You're freakin' _hopeless_, Bertie."

"Let's take a break for now. Take five, everyone," the doctor overseeing the session announced.

Bertram nodded, falling back onto the bed. He heard a light beep, signaling that he had a text. Checking the phone, he almost dropped it in surprise when the picture finally loaded.

The picture was of a large German Shepherd. Arrow. The dog was in a park, wrestling a toy from a brown haired man. They both appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Bertram smiled, his heart warming at the text message that accompanied the picture. It filled him with new determination.

_There's no such thing as a hopeless case. – TS_

"Hey, Sam?" The physical therapist looked up, watching the soldier hobble over to the corner to pick up the harness. He strapped it to his leg, making adjustments as he had been shown.

Bertram took a deep breath. "Can we give it another try?"

* * *

The End.

Well, this ends the story... for now. Arrow will continue to make cameos in Hawkeye's Merry Men. This was a way to help explore Hawkeye's character a bit more, and I'm glad that everyone who's read and reviewed have been awesome- thank you for the feedback and support!


End file.
